


No Innocent One In This Game For Two

by brightpinkstars



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke, F/F, Gang Violence, loosely based on Netflix's Daredevil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9403823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightpinkstars/pseuds/brightpinkstars
Summary: "Many believe the point of art is to incite feelings, and when faced with something they don’t quite understand, you often got an look into their brain, into their emotions, thoughts and feelings. How art makes someone feel can show you how they tick. It is the most intense form of people watching there is and she loves it."Clarke is the curator of an Art Gallery in Hell's Kitchen with an upper class upbringing and a boring day to day life who is enthralled by the mysterious suited woman who comes in to buy art and vows to make the city a better place.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic is mostly based off of the dynamic between Wilson Fisk and Vanessa Marianna in Marvel's Daredevil on Netflix.  
> You don't have to have watched the show for this to make sense, and Daredevil won't ever actually show up. The first two chapters borrow a lot from the show, but after that the story line is completely separate from that. Hope you enjoy!

Many people questioned as to why Clarke spent the majority of her time at the gallery, milling with the hundreds of people who made their way in from the bustle of the New York street to admire the art-her art. Well, her art hidden amongst some much better known names. It’s true, she did have a gaggle of interns at her disposal to be ready to talk up any piece on the floor to its asking price. But, there was something about walking up to a stranger enthralled in an abstract piece of art and asking their opinion on it. Many believe the point of art is to incite feelings, and when faced with something they don’t quite understand, you often got an look into their brain, into their emotions, thoughts and feelings. How art makes someone feel can show you how they tick. It is the most intense form of people watching there is and she loves it.

She liked to guess what the customer would say before they said it, by looking at the clothing, how they were standing, if they were alone or with a partner. She was best at guessing what older men would say, it would usually be some Ernest Hemingway type drivel about finding yourself or how the artist obviously didn’t connect well with his father-Clarke Griffin was always a man in their minds. She would always nod and then explain how it doesn’t matter what it represents, its how the painting makes them feel, hoping it will make them feel a couple hundred thousand dollars worth of emotion.

“A children’s joke…” She smirked as her heels clicked on the tiled floor to stand next to the woman in front of one of their largest paintings “You hold up a piece of white paper and ask what it is.” With a raise of her eyebrows she turned her head to study the woman’s face, noting the strong jawline and steely eyes as she continued to gaze at the large expanse of white canvas. “Its a rabbit in a snow storm” A low chuckle escaped Clarke’s lips as she turned back to the painting, noting how the woman didn’t react to the joke...okay so this was going to be a tough one.

“Are you interested or just looking?” She asked, eyes flicking over the woman’s attire, taking notes of the fitted suit and the well groomed hair. She obviously could afford to be browsing.

“I’m interested” The woman’s voice was softer than expected, the response sounded clipped short, like she had more to say but was unable to say it.

Shifting her weight to her other foot, Clarke tried a different approach “People ask us how we can charge so much for what is essentially a mass of white paint” Another glance to her side showed that the woman was still staring intensely ahead of her, fully engrossed in the painting. The artist in her just wanted to leave this woman alone, allow her to appreciate the art in peace, but the curator in her mind was pushing for another sale tonight, she could easily hang two of her own pieces in the space where this one currently hung. “But it’s not about the artist, or how long it took to make, or even what it means…..” Her eyes bore into the side of the woman’s face, begging for a reaction of some kind “It’s about how it makes you feel.”

“Alone”  
The corner of Clarke’s mouth twitched into a smile at the single syllable as the woman finally turned her head to face Clarke and she had to force herself not to step back at the intensity of the woman’s gaze. 

“It makes me feel alone”

It takes Clarke a second to formulate a response to that, steeling herself under the penetrating look from the woman, before she turned back to gaze at the piece.

“Well, that’s a very valid thing to feel. Some would say that the block colour really envelopes them, some find it stifling to their sense. I once had a woman faint after looking for too long, although it was over a hundred degrees that day and our air conditioning was broken” She chuckled lowly, looking at the woman again, hoping for a different reaction. The woman’s eyes darted to her right, to meet with Clarke’s momentarily before she repositioned herself, moving her arms from her side to be clasped behind her back, the material of her suit stretching over her shoulders slightly.  
“I’ll take it.” She said quickly.  
Clarke’s brow furrowed slightly “Do you not want to know how much it is?”  
“It doesn’t matter how much it costs” She turned her head to look at Clarke once more, gaze less intense this time, somehow humble but with an air of someone who was used to being in control, used to getting what they wanted the second they wanted it. “I will take it” She inclined her head as she slowed her words down, still maintaining deep eye contact with Clarke.

Clarke struggled to find her words for a second, breath getting stuck in her throat as it felt as though green eyes were staring straight into her soul. “Okay then.” She let out a deep breath as she tore herself away from the woman’s gaze and leaned over to place a red dot sticker from the sheet she always held in her hand onto the plaque. “We’re closing in 10 minutes, so if you just give me your name we can go over the legal stuff tomorrow-or whenever you are next free….” She bit her lip slightly as she waited for the woman who had started staring at the painting again. 

“10 minutes?” The woman looked around slowly, looking vaguely lost and confused “Uhm, yes, my name is Lexa Woods.” Lexa shifted her weight from one foot to the other, turning to look Clarke face to face, eyes giving her the once over, taking in the professional, but body hugging white dress the blonde was wearing. Lexa sighed and tensed her shoulders, with a miniscule shake of her head. “I will send one of my assistants over tomorrow then. But now, I will leave so you can close up. Goodnight.” Lexa inclined her head slightly and swiftly exited the gallery, before Clarke could even offer to walk her out, and leaving the blonde feeling something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She thoroughly enjoyed people watching.  
__________________________________________________________________________

It was another 12 days until Clarke saw Lexa again, the sale of ‘Rabbit in a Snowstorm’ being executed completely through assistants. Clarke expected, like so many other of her clients, that the woman in the suit-Lexa-would never return, and fade from her memory, just become another reference number on her accounts. It was a shame, Lexa hadn’t been the most colourful clients, but she was definitely one of the most memorable. Nevertheless, Clarke hadn’t dwelled on it much, instead focusing on the delicate process of procuring one of the lesser known works of Klimt to put in place of Rabbit in a Snowstorm-one of her own filler pieces was currently hanging there, with not much interest- as usual.

It was a slow evening, with only a few people crossing the threshold of the Arcadia Gallery. Clarke had since sent all of her interns home and resigned herself to counting the number of ceiling tiles there were in the main space-one thousand two hundred and forty two to be exact. She made yet another round of the floor space when she noticed a suited figure hovering near the door way.  
Her face lit up slightly before she put on a professional smile and clasped her hands in front of her chest as she strode towards the woman.  
“So, how are you enjoying Rabbit in a Snowstorm?” She asked Lexa, glad to have some human company for the first time in a few hours, not missing the three men in dark suits with walkie talkies standing outside.  
Lexa quirked her head slightly, a momentary look of confusion passing over her face before she could regain composure. “You remembered?”  
“Of course!” Clarke smiled warmly, allowing herself to look the woman up and down. “It’s one of my favourite pieces”  
“I hung it in my bedroom” Lexa said, her voice stronger and clearer than it had been the last time, as she took a step closer to Clarke “It’s the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see in the morning”  
“Well, that’s either incredibly romantic” Clarke replied with a chuckle in her voice “or incredibly sad” she winked before she even realised what she was doing.  
Lexa’s mostly passive face brightened slightly when the blonde winked at her and her voice seemed to have new life as she replied “I’m hoping it’s the first”  
“Don’t we all?” Clarke smiled before turning away to gesture at the empty gallery “Are you looking for another piece, because I could show you many pieces that would accompany Rabbit in a Snowstorm exquisitely.”  
“Well…” Lexa tensed her shoulders “I just wanted to thank you for it...personally” She inched closer to Clarke, clenching and unclenching her fists as if trying to relieve some of the very evident tension in her body.  
“Well, that’s not necessary, but you’re welcome” Clarke smiled again, clasping her hands again “Is there anything else I can help you with?”  
“Yes well” The suited woman tensed once more before a pained smile came across her face “I was wondering if you would care to join me for dinner?” The air almost crackled with the tension the question had left in the air between them. Clarke was taken aback. It wasn’t the first time somebody had asked her out while at the gallery and she wasn’t exactly suprised that this Lexa woman liked women, she was just more surprised that she had actually had the gall to ask her. She was very intrigued by this woman, but she knew nothing about her, how was she to know that Lexa wasn’t a murderer, or a Republican?  
“I’m the only one working here tonight” Clarke offered as her response, not a no, but with the implied message the same. She began to continue, explain that maybe later but not right now when she was cut off  
“Oh yes, of course” Lexa began to back pedal, beginning to turn around, face back to what Clarke could only assume was it’s usual passiveness.  
As she stepped away, Clarke frowned “That’s it? You’re not going to offer to buy every painting in here, so I can close up early?” She smiled “A guy actually tried that once”  
“Well, you said no. So I was just respecting your wishes.” Lexa explained stepping closer to Clarke again  
“Well, if you had let me finish” Clarke raised her eyebrows flirtily as she matched Lexa’s step so they were almost toe to toe. “I was going to say ‘I’m the only one working here tonight, and you don’t even know my name. But my name is Clarke, I finish at 11, and there are other people working here tomorrow.” She smirked slightly as she held out her hand for Lexa to shake.  
Lexa took Clarke’s hand “Lexa. It’s a pleasure.”  
As they withdrew, Clarke noticed a slight smile playing on the corners of Lexa’s lips. “Well, then I will be here at 11, but now I will let you get back to work” She turned and began to make her way out of the gallery.  
“No, Tomorrow, here at 8” Clarke responded, and she could tell by the tension that became evident in Lexa’s body that she wasn’t a woman who was used to being told no.  
She gave a small inclination of her head, before continuing towards the door, one of the suited men outside opened the back door of a black Escalade. As she watched the Car drive away, Clarke noticed a small smear of blood on the hand that she had touched Lexa with. 

_________________________________________________________________________

The restaurant was a short walk from Clarke’s gallery, a recent addition to the rapidly increasing gentrification of Hell’s Kitchen. Lexa had foregone the three piece suit of her previous interactions with Clarke to favour just the button up, with a grey blazer. It was still formal, but not too formal. This wasn’t a business meeting, this was just two adults getting to know each other over dinner. She would be less nervous if this was a business meeting, she thought as she looked at the blonde across the table from her.  
Clarke was pouring over the menu, looking up every few seconds to regard her dinner date, who had ordered their wine in perfect Italian and was now perusing the menu with the type of leisure that came from already knowing what she was going to order. When she next looked up at Lexa, her eyes met Lexa’s green ones and she let out a low chuckle before the contact was broken as the server brought them a vintage bordeaux and took their dinner orders

“Mm this is very nice” Clarke commented, taking a sip while Lexa thanked the server.  
“Well, that’s good…. I honestly know nothing about wine.” Lexa nodded, her response clipped, slightly restrained. “My assistant, Titus, suggested we get this one”  
“Well, maybe I should be having dinner with him instead” Clarke quipped, not missing the split second of disappointment on the woman’s face. “I’m joking, he’s probably not my type” She chuckled at the look of relief on Lexa’s face; she could already tell that she was going to have fun with this one. “You don’t do this often, do you?” She leant forwards on her elbows, menu no longer on the table.  
Lexa shook her head, looking almost shy for a moment “No… I don’t usually have the time”  
Clarke nodded, leaning back in her chair again, beginning to become slightly annoyed at the minimal responses she was getting from her date. She wasn’t used to having to be the one to make the effort, usually people would ask her questions about her non stop.  
“I’m surprised I didn’t know this place was here, what with it being so close to the gallery” She commented, looking around the room, taking in the tasteful decor and crystal chandeliers.  
“It’s fairly new, only opened last month” Lexa took another sip of wine, still trying to keep control of the heartbeat that starts racing every time Clarke smiles.  
“Well, the city’s really changing”  
“Not quick enough.”  
Now, this was something Clarke was not expecting. From the suit to the respectful reserved demeanor, she had assumed Lexa was more of a traditional person. “Really?” She cocked her head “I don’t know, it would be a shame to see all the character scrubbed away”  
Lexa let out a soft chuckle, eliciting a raised eyebrow and a twinkle in the eye from Clarke “You’re not from here, are you?”  
“Well, what gave it away?” She asked, leaning towards Lexa once more, hoping to keep the momentum of this conversation going.  
“When I was a child” She began, leaning forwards slightly “I used to dream of moving far away, living anywhere but here, somewhere beautiful. The city’s ‘character’ was my prison” The brunette licked her lips and looked down at her plate as she spoke  
“What made you stay?”  
“I didn’t, when I was twelve my mother sent me to live with relatives, a farm in a little town in Idaho. I was going to go to college, but I decided to take a year off to go travelling, mostly around Asia. Never did end up going to college. Well, at least not officially” She explained  
Clarke’s head was propped up on her hand now; Lexa was getting more interesting by the minute. “But you came back”  
“Yes” She nodded, taking a deep breath, trying to find the words “Time, and distance can afford a certain clarity. I realised that the city was a part of me, that it was in my blood, and I would do anything to make it a better place….for people like you”  
Clarke raised her eyebrow once more before reaching to take hold of her wine glass, raising it slightly. “To a better place”  
Their glasses clinked softly before they took another sip. “So you’re a politician?” Clarke asked  
“Something like that.” Lexa shrugged modestly “What about you, if you’re not from New York?”  
Clarke nodded and started her usual spiel about herself; grew up in California, Engineer father, Surgeon mother, History of Art at Yale, Class of 2010, owner and curator of the Arcadia since her uncle left it to her in his will. A remarkable, but to her knowledge, an uneventful life. Their food had come during Clarke’s life story and Clarke began picking through her meal.  
“So, where in Asia did you go?” She asked curiously  
“I spent most of my time in Hong Kong and Taiwan, Vietnam and Cambodia for a while too.”  
“And which of those did you pick up Italian in?” Clarke smirked  
“Italy, surprisingly” Lexa let out a rare chuckle in response  
“Well, you really have been every where. I always wished I’d done more travelling”  
“Now, I don’t want to sound like one of those people, but I think travelling really helps you grow as an individual, especially if you do it alone”  
“And what kind of person did you grow into, Lexa?”  
“Tonight, I’m just a woman, enjoying the company of another captivating woman”  
Clarke smirked, now that she was coming out of her shell a little more, Lexa was rather smooth.

“I told you, she’s indisposed”  
“No, let me through!” Loud voices came from foyer of the restaurant, and as Clarke turned her head, a dark haired man burst through the door, struggling with a bald suit Clarke recognised from standing outside her gallery.  
There was a bustle of movement around her as every single person on the tables around them stood up, and began reaching into their jackets.  
“What is this?” Looking around in confusion, Clarke turned to Lexa, in hope that she would explain. All she got in return is a hand shushing her as her date stood and came behind her, pulling out her chair “You need to go”  
“Lexa, what’s going on?” She asked as Lexa began to usher her out of the restaurant, suddenly aware of how many guns were around her at this very second  
“My brother and I, we are out!” The intruder called out, blocked from Clarke’s view by three burly guards in suits  
“Titus will take care of you” Lexa called out, hand still on the small of Clarke’s back, guiding her forwards, not with enough force for it to be a push, but for Clarke to know that resisting would be a very bad idea.  
“Get him a car” She said in hushed undertones to Titus as she and Clarke left the restaurant. 

As the cold air hit them, Clarke swivelled around to face Lexa, her face a mixture of anger, fear and confusion. “What the hell was that Lexa?”  
“I’m sorry, that was business. A member of my organisation who doesn’t understand his place” She spat out, the anger evident on her face, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.  
At the word organisation, it felt like everything clicked into place for Clarke, the security, the cars, the money. And that blood on her hand.  
“And everyone at the restaurant?” She asked, trying to keep her cool  
“Just a security precaution-look, can I walk you home?” She looked remorseful, but Clarke wasn’t sure if it was remorse for ruining their dinner, for lying to her or for being found out.  
“You can walk me to the gallery, and then you will leave” she compromised before beginning to walk in the direction they had come a few hours earlier.

They walked in awkward silence, until Lexa broke it as they reached the gallery “Will I see you again?” She asked hopefully, already knowing what Clarke’s answer would be.  
With a sigh, Clarke took a step back from Lexa, nearer to the door “I don’t usually date customers”  
“But you came out with me tonight.” Lexa offered, hoping she could try and salvage this ruin of a date  
“And here we are at nine thirty. So.” Her voice was cold as she avoided making eye contact  
“Well, I could return the painting and then I wouldn’t be your cus-”  
“I’m not interested in gestures, Lexa” Clarke cut her off before folding her arms with a sigh “Or your money, or….whatever that was about at the restaurant.” She paused momentarily, shaking her head “I went out with you tonight because there’s something different about you….I’m not so sure that’s a good thing now”  
“Like you said, I don’t do this much.” Lexa sighed, chewing on her bottom lip before . “But I very much enjoyed our time together Clarke, and I’m sorry that our dinner went sideways. If you don’t feel the same way, even a little bit, you can tell me. I’ll understand. And I promise that you will never see me again”  
Clarke couldn’t help but think that this was the most emotion that Lexa had shown all night. She was asking for forgiveness, but her eyes showed someone who was used to rejection. The question hung in the air for what felt like an eternity before Clarke’s shoulder’s sank  
“I don’t know how I feel” Were her last words before she turned and went into the gallery, leaving Lexa alone in the street.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Semet was not what you would consider an important man. Growing up in Washington Heights, he had never left New York-barely leaving Manhattan before he was in his teens. He had heard all the lectures, been to all the mandatory school assemblies about not joining gangs, but what’s a kid to do when their mom is working three minimum wage jobs and their Grandma was sick. He had been part of a rather tight little operation in northern manhattan when Trigeda had approached them with an offer- open up their channels for more than the usual cocaine and heroin, for a handsome profit and protection from the other groups in the area. He had agreed immediately

This arrangement had been working well for the past six months until a disagreement with their distributor had lead to a bomb in their latest shipment. Semet had a family to think about now. His daughter was nearing her second birthday, and she needed a father more than this city needs drugs. He couldn't stand for this any more, he was told to just politely explain to the Commander why they were pulling out. However, subtle and calm weren’t words often used to describe him. His flair for the dramatics had driven him to run into the Commander’s dinner shouting, but he demanded to be heard. 

“It could have killed me, you know?” He shook his head, riding in the back of one of The Commander’s Escalades. He was clearly being courted, they were gonna tell him what an important role he played, offer him some more protection and money, he would probably accept. It was going to be a good night.  
“You were right to reach out to us, Semet” The Commander’s bald lieutenant reassured him from the seat next to him, looking straight ahead, never making eye contact. “Although, a call would have been more appropriate” His voice was quiet, icy. The type of quiet that could easily be a lot more intimidating than a booming yell.  
“Look, I wanted to speak with her in person, try to put the past behind us, even though it is set in stone” Semet shrugged, glancing out the window and trying to make out from the blurred lights where they were; the darkened windows in the back seat weren’t helping. “Why are we stopping?”  
“They say the past is etched in stone, but it’s not” Titus stated, ignoring Semet’s question “It is smoke in closed room; swirling, changing. Even though we can try to change it and get rid of it, the smell still lingers, like wood smoke. Undeniable to those who know it.”  
Buzz Buzz  
He brought the phone to his ear with a sigh “Heda? Yes, passenger’s side” Those four words were all he said before hanging up.  
“Was that her?”  
“Mmm” Titus nodded, looking forwards, unable to look Semet in the eye “She’d like to have a word with you.”

All Semet could do was nod before the door next to him was flung open and he felt his back hit the card hold ground of concrete. Immediately his years of street fights came back to him as he jumped up and swung his arms, fists being blocked by someone a lot smaller and agile than him, but definitely just as strong. He lost his footing as he felt solid blows hit his face and chest; the undeniable crack of his nose breaking filling the air around the car. He was thrown to the ground once more, giving him a second to reach into his pocket and pull out his knife. He stumbled to his feet as his assailant stalked towards him like a predator towards their prey, green eyes glinting in the street light.  
With a yell he ran forwards, wielding his knife, only knicking a bicep as his face was grabbed and his back slammed against the car door. The arm holding the knife was grabbed and twisted, with a crunch and searing pain through his shoulder confirming his suspicions that this was not a fight he was going to win.  
With a clatter of metal on concrete, Semet dropped the knife as blow after blow landed on his jaw, sending teeth and blood flying out of his mouth.  
Through deep breaths and a blood spattered face the body on top of him growled “You embarrassed me”  
Another punch to Semet’s face. The blood on his face was mingling with that coming from the Commander's bust knuckles. He couldn’t quite focus his eyes, and he was pretty sure he was rapidly losing consciousness  
“You embarrassed me in front of her”  
Semet finally managed to focus on the form in front of him, the glare of green eyes and the blade like cheekbones were hidden under a layer of red splatters and a snarl that made him think she was going to tear out his throat with her teeth.  
Semet had given up retaliating now, The Commander had already beaten him half to a pulp. He couldn’t even move his right arm without agony ripping through his body. He resigned himself to being a human punching bag as more and more blows landed, and he could already feel the bruises blossoming under their touch.  
After a few more hits, he lost consciousness, slumping against the car, head in the foot of the door, where Titus looked out, unamused.  
“Heda...” He said quietly, almost warningly as Lexa grabbed the car door and slammed it against Semet’s skull, again and again and again until a squelch filled the silent lot and the door closed, blood pooling around the wheels.

Breathing heavily, Lexa stepped over the dead man and faced away from the car, looking out over the river to the city.  
“Heda” Came Titus’s voice from behind her, as he handed her his pocket handkerchief to wipe the blood off of her face, he wanted to reprimand her, but one glance back at the car made him swallow his words. “What shall we do with him”  
“Take what’s left of him, and send it to his distributor.” Lexa growled, trying to regain her breathing in the way Titus always used to tell her to do.  
“You know that will start a war”  
“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> please comment kudos and subscribe, or hit me up on tumblr lexad.tumblr.com to yell at me about this fic okay love you bye


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